


Hydrophobia

by MiraMiraOTW



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cyberpunk, Cyberpunk/Fantasy hybrid, Gen, Mystery, Prequel for another work entirely
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-03-03 22:43:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13351041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiraMiraOTW/pseuds/MiraMiraOTW
Summary: In a world separate from ours, where magic and myths exist, technology developed differently in a way that artificial intelligence, human augmentation and medicine are far more advanced but firearms are new and aerial travel doesn't exist, the world has enjoyed a less bloody yet more chaotic existence. "Mother Nature" is humanity's one god, and she speaks to the world through gargantuan "World Trees", of which there are 13.Stationed in an eldritch desert for a year, a disillusioned knight decides to abandon his post and seek out a way to destroy his order without violating the oath he swore to said order. To accomplish this he enlists the help of a cyborg ex-friend, an eccentric werewolf coffee shop owner, a quirky vampire who never got over her cyber goth phase, and a reclusive beekeeper that thinks the bees are actually their children. All of whom have good reason to hate him.





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two friends share a drink on a warm desert night.

In the shadow of Crann-Bacaidh, the wall separating the Badlands from the rest of Scotland, lay a small village eking out an existence far from the rest of the Badlands. Atop the balcony of a small, but tidy hut sat two well-dressed Knights sipping away at unbranded beers and celebrating the country’s anniversary. The hut was built from stone, brick and wood, cobbled together at the hands of some very generous geomancers. The pair had brought two collapsible chairs with them, and were using a broken kite shield as a table. Their abode was dimly lit by a single candle which flickered with a gentle, almost comforting blue flame. The clock had fallen at midnight on the 24th of April 2024, and the fireworks began.  
“Were you there fur the war?” asked Jenna, elder of the two and also the least sober. She was a fairly tall woman, standing at six foot three inches out of armour. Her features were soft and gentle, standing as a stark contrast to her extremely rough and chaotic attitude. Beneath her pasty grey eyes sat a particularly dark scar, one she was allegedly born with. It was quite impossible to miss, as the darkness of it contrasted with both her silver hair and porcelain skin. She didn’t have the luxury of seeing regular combat so this was her only scar, which was quite the rarity amongst Knights. Her lips were purse and blue, likely as a result of her being a cryomancer, a mage specialized in ice magic.

Matthew, younger of the two and the most sober, sat his beer down and paused to think for a moment. In spite of having seen more combat than some Knights 20 years his senior, Matthew had remarkably little battle damage. He was unremarkable in terms of appearance; short black hair, a well-trimmed goatee, brown eyes, and uninteresting features. His only notable feature was his height, which clocked in at around five foot four inches, smaller than the national male average of five foot nine. As he was a hemomancer, a mage specialized in blood magic, his nickname was “Red Dwarf”. He was not a big fan. He was a little one.

“Cannae say a wis. Got deployed tae protect parliament for most ae the fighting. You?”  
Jenna laughed at the question. “Aye. Spent most ae that 6 months down in Carlisle tryin’ ae keep the border together. Wis fuckin’ brutal, man.” She was cavalier about the entire thing, but her words had an undertone of strange joy to them.  
Matthew shrugged and took another sip from his beer. “A cin imagine. Heard some nasty business went doon at the border, naebdy talks about it in a good way.”  
Once again Jenna laughed, this time sharply. “Depends who ye ask, a guess. Me? Loved it. Those bastards deployed their best; mages, Knights, chromedromes-“  
Matthew spat his drink and turned to Jenna incredulously. “Chromedome? Wit the fuck is a “Chromedome”?”  
Yet again Jenna laughed. “Aw, right. Forgot you wirnae around fur that. Basically, about three years before the war, the English had a program going specifically fur the disabled, the imprisoned, or the diseased. Give up yer failing fleshy body and get a nice wee mechanical one. In exchange, ye pledged tae be on reserves if a war ever broke out.”  
“And people just fucking accepted that?” Asked Matthew, half convinced she was making this up.”  
“Aye, they did. Folk’d do a lot for a comfy life when they’ve never had wan. But anyways, we’re getting sidetracked. They deployed their best, so the battles were absolutely bangin’. Ye never knew if the guy launching fireballs at ye was your guy, their guy, or some pyromancer stood on a landmine. A miss it sometimes, honestly. Peacetime is so…” Jenna trailed off, staring into the distance. A particularly loud firework snapped her back to reality.

“Sorry about that, a dinnae usually get pure melancholic.” Jenna ended her sentence with another sip. Though the war was short, lasting only half a year, both nations were still scarred 4 years later, as were most of their people.  
“Could be worse, ye could be getting sentimental.” Matthew took a longer drink this time. “Speaking of, actually, ye remember Bellshill? That wee shitehole of a town we grew up in?”  
“A do. Am glad we left. Last thing a did before we shipped out to the Knights was firebomb the job centre and the Tesco.” Jenna smirked at the memory, for it was a particularly fond one.  
Matthew feigned disgust, but it quickly turned to laughter. “Awright, the job centre I can understand, but the fucking Tesco? Of all places? You’re a madwoman, Jenna, an absolute madwoman.” The pair shared a laugh, followed by a drink. A drink that was nearly spilled all over Matthew’s armour, as a particularly explosive firework startled him. Jenna didn’t so much laugh as she did snort and squeal like a particularly excitable pig, clearly far too amused by the sight of Matthew scrambling to keep his clothes from getting an involuntarily wash.  
The independence celebrations were still in full swing. Even beyond the wall, most people still celebrated the holiday despite living in a permanent reminder of what it cost. The pair much preferred to celebrate out here, as the much simpler way of life lead to less taxing celebrations.  
“Accidents aside, a know we said not to talk about work tonight, but something’s been bugging me…” Matthew sat his beer in his lap, and looked to the ground and back with uncertainty. “Did anything feel off about that last relic hunt to you?”  
Jenna’s demeanour shifted entirely, and she looked to the floor with a sense of dread. “Aye, it did. Ye know how hunts are, they’re always kinda messy, always kinda intense, but that last one wis… too easy, far too easy. Felt like we were being strung along.” Another firework. Though loud, this one didn’t shift either of them.  
“Aye, agree with ye on that one,” said Matthew. “We’ve been oot here in the Badlands for what… a year, now? Never had a hunt make me so uneasy.” The pair sat for a moment, before shrugging and down another drink.  
The two sat in silence for a while, soaking in the ambience and soaking in the alcohol. They took turns fetching beers, exchanging endless small talk and attempting not to be drowned out by the fireworks. Occasionally a child would knock on the door and ask for either a sweet or kindling for a bonfire, and whoever had the misfortune of answering the door would comply. The clock soon hit two, the time where celebrations peak before dimming out entirely. At this time, fireworks were replaced with “lasair” rockets. The name was contentious for many people, as it essentially translated to “flame” in Gaelic, which many felt was lazy and uninspired. Nevertheless it soon became tradition and many of Scotland’s aspiring pyromancers signed on to create the biggest and best.  
The first rocket rose into the sky with a deep, guttural screech, before exploding into a fantastic flaming visage of the Scottish flag. The pair took a drink to celebrate.  
“How original” snarked Jenna.  
The second rocket rose into the sky silently, exploding into what appeared to be nothing. Seconds later however, a majestic depiction of Sir Loyce, the Knight that is credited with winning the war for Scotland, formed in the sky.

Matthew leaned over to Jenna. “Whatever happened to that guy?”  
“Naebdy knows. Won the war and then fucked off somewhere, your guess is as good as mine” Jenna replied bitterly, before downing her beer.  
  
At the end of the Anglo-Scottish Secession War of 2020, an unknown magical attack was launched at the Scottish Highlands and created The Badlands. Almost everybody assumed it came from England, so international reprisal was swift and decisive. Sir Loyce, then the Lord Commander of the Sanguine Knights, stormed Buckingham Palace in order to fight the Queen herself. Sir Loyce was both a solarmancer and a lunarmancer and the magical attack had caused a solar eclipse to form, meaning he could tap into both of his powers simultaneously. Queen Fiona, however, was one of the strongest geomancers to ever live. Their battle raged for 4 days straight, destroying much of London and the entirety of Buckingham Palace in the process. As the battle drew to a close, a blinding light erupted from the center of the city and both the Queen and Lord Commander were nowhere to be found. To the world at large, the war was over and Scotland was freed. Sir Loyce was named a hero and became almost a mythical figure in Scotland. Jenna, however, abhorred even the mention of his name. In her eyes, his sudden departure was not a grand sacrifice, but a cowardly retreat. She had idolized him since before she became a knight and took his disappearance  _very_ personally. A third rocket rose into the sky with a mere whisper, before exploding with a violent roar into the shape of a proud lion, with the colours of the Scottish flag composing it.  
  
“Pretty, but a wee bit unoriginal, eh?” Matthew quipped, waiting for a response.  
It didn’t come. “M-Ma-?” Jenna hissed, unable to speak. Something had cleanly opened her throat as though it were an envelope.  
“Jenna, fuck, Jenna? What ha-“ He had no chance to respond before Jenna’s throat seemed to tear itself open. She looked up at Matthew helplessly, before keeling over into a ball and fading away.

Matthew’s emotions ran wild. Panic was gnawing on his bones alongside the rage which was whispering in his ear. He took a solitary step towards Jenna’s body, almost hoping she’d get back up and reveal this was all some fantastic prank she’d cooked up to torment him. He waited for a sign, a glimmer, or a spark that would tell him she’s not dead.  
The next rocket launched, as if to signal that what he sought would never come to pass. The sound of the rocket was dimmed by the sudden rushing of water. In an almost literal flash, a humanoid figure composed entirely of crystal clear water stood before him. Though the liquid within it was moving, the figure altogether seemed completely motionless.  
Matthew stared at it with equal parts amazement, curiosity, hatred and fear. He was well aware that hydromancers existed, but he’d never actually seen something like this before. Was it actually a hydromancer, then? Or was it an illusion? Perhaps a particularly malicious spirit? It mattered not to him, for rage won in the end. He extended his arm to the side, and from his very veins sprouted a majestic blade comprised of slick dark blood. One more look was all it took to solidify his rage towards the watery figure, and he lunged towards it, swiping once with all of his might.  
The figure parted in two, but quickly reformed. Matthew phased right through it, tripping over Jenna’s body and almost falling over the balcony. He turned to face the figure, now visibly terrified of it and shuddering rapidly. The figure made no movement, but yet it felt as if it had still turned to make eye contact. In the distance, another rocket rose.  
  
“I- you- what are-“ Matthew cut himself off, unable to speak through the panic.  
  
The figure raised a fist to its chest. A small gesture, yet it filled Matthew with such mortal fear that tears burst free from his eyes. It was a well-placed fear. Ice began to protrude from the figure’s stomach, quickly coming to resemble a stone stalactite. Matthew realized what was about to happen, and raised his hand in a futile defence.  
Before he could raise it even to his chest the icy stalactite shot forth from the figure and impaled Matthew’s stomach, shattering his bloody blade and forcing him to the ground. Behind him, the rocket exploded into a beautiful black and pink rose, a symbol that had come to be associated with Scotland’s Badlands and the events that formed it. Matthew defiantly forced himself to his knees through the pain, using his hemomancy to slow the bleeding and numb the pain.

“You… can’t… have… me, de-“ Matthew was cut short by the realization that the figure had flash-frozen itself and was now completely ice. Matthew stared on in horror, desperately trying to focus on anything but the pain of the stalactite still in his stomach.

The ice quickly began to fall away in tiny chips, all of which fell to the floor with a peculiar clacking sound as though they were dice. Each clack turned Matthew’s stomach upside down, for he knew what it meant.  
From the ice emerged a figure; six foot, long well-kept hair that ended around his jaw, brown eyes, a well-kept full beard, pale skin, and a single scar on his left cheek. He was dressed in a simple suit shirt, trousers and shoes, with a tie and waistcoat to round it off. However his clothes were stained, very clearly from exposure to sand and dust. His shirt was torn slightly in various places, and though his tie was very delicately tied, it didn’t seem to be able to sit right.  
It was Daniel, Matthew’s former captain who had disappeared two months into their deployment.  
“What’s good, kid?” Daniel asked, very clearly mocking Matthew. “It’s been quite some time since I had the pleasure of your company. It’s a detestable shame we couldn’t have ran into one another under more… sunny circumstances.” Daniel smirked, a panther ready to devour its prey.  
“Da-da-Daniel? What-how-why?” Matthew asked incredulously, fundamentally unable to process what was going on.  
“Why? Well, you ever come to a gate, a door, a lock, and you curse the powers that be because you can’t find the key?” Daniel scratched his beard and then gestured his hand towards Matthew, as if handing the conversation over to him. He paused for a moment before carrying on. “Well, as it stands my dear boy, I’ve found my key to the gate that’s been in my way for months. Sorry about your little friend, by the by.” Daniel gestured with a hand to Jenna’s corpse. “It’s always a shame to kill a fellow mage, but let’s face it; cryomancers are just inferior hydromancers. Same with hemomancers, really. In any case, I do hope you and her get along.”  
Matthew raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean get along?” he asked fearfully.  
“Oh, y’know.” Daniel raised a hand, and a bubble surrounded Matthew’s head. He began struggling, trashing his arms and body around trying to escape, gnawing at his throat in an attempt to get the bubble off. Water poured down his throat and into his lungs. In mere seconds, all oxygen had been drowned out of his body, as had all life. Daniel clicked his fingers and the bubble faded, causing Matthew to fall to the ground with a sickening thunk.

Daniel withdraw a small black tarp from one of his front pockets, large enough to cover a human face and torso. He gently spread it in the air, and then guided it to Matthew’s corpse. From his other pocket he lifted out ceremonial cable tie, which he used to secure the tarp around Matthew. He knelt by Matthew’s body for a moment, waiting for the sound of fireworks. Once they resumed, he swiftly picked up the body and vacated the hut.  
The night was dragging on and thus the air was growing colder. The gentle whispers of the desert wind had escalated to subtle howls. In the distance, beyond the dunes and various bits of debris, stood the Crann-Bacaidh. The force that created The Badlands had utterly terraformed the area into something that resembled the original area in no way, shape or form. Fertile, mountainous grasslands became a treacherous desert, peppered with ruins and black glass deposits. The sea around the Highlands wasn’t freed either, and thus the size of the Badlands is twice that of the original Highlands. The Scottish Government, rightfully fearing for the safety of their population, enlisted the help of thousands of builders and geomancers to erect a quarantine wall within just four months. It was officially christened “Crann-Bacaidh”, the exact translation of which has been disputed for years. With 24/7 armed patrols and only four major entrances, it did the job it was built for.

The Badlands itself was a very eldritch place at its core, in part due to unknown magic used to create it. The desert sands would often shift on their own, even on windless days. Black glass was all over the desert, often in strange formations that defied both physics and common sense. Magical creatures, namely Vampires and other undead, thrived in the Badlands, to the point where two of the eight major settlements were for those Finally, the Badlands itself seemed to negatively impact technology. Phone signals, wi-fi and the like didn’t work at all, and portable batteries and other man-made power sources seemed to drain significantly faster beyond the wall. This meant expeditions, like those made by Daniel's order, the Sanguine Knights, were incredibly pricey.  
In spite of being a massive, solid grey structure with no defining features, Daniel found a strange beauty in the wall. In front of it was a bleak, sandy hellscape only lit by the searchlights from the wall and traces of moonlight. Behind the wall was the little village of Dinnet, gently lit up orange from the streetlights. The contrast was quite the sight to Daniel. He sat Matthew down on a flat surface, made sure he was stable, and whipped out his phone. In spite of being about 6 years old, Daniel couldn’t bear to part with it. The camera quality was divine for the era it was released in, and he had never been able to find a phone with such a good price to quality ratio. The case was coated in tape, bits of metal, and other knick knacks that Daniel had used to repair it, and the screen had been replaced more time than socks.  
The dune he had chosen to stop at provided a fantastic view of the wall and within a few seconds, Daniel had lined up the perfect picture. With a click, it was added to his large roster of Badlands sights that he had collected over the last year. He picked Matthew up once more and began the walk down to the gate. Fortunately for him, the areas adjacent to an entrance or exit were mostly free from danger, so his walk was uneventful and punctuated only by his whistling and the sounds of the shifting desert sands. With each step, the wall seemed to grow larger and larger, eventually becoming a near colossus by the time he was within range of the gate.

“HALT!” Daniel’s arrival at the checkpoint was met with a particularly burly soldier screaming at him. “Who goes there?!” he screamed into the night, not entirely able to see Daniel. A second later, however, both of the gate’s monolithic searchlights were beaming upon Daniel, illuminating him and his unwilling companion for all the soldiers to see.  
“Daniel Lynn of the Sanguine Knights, third company. This here’s the corpse of one Matthew McDonald, killed in action. Ma company commander sent me to bury him at our lot. A’ve git ID if you need tae check.” Daniel’s accent had switched. Gone was the elegant, smooth voice he’d had an hour prior and in its stead was a thick, deep Glaswegian accent.  
“Awrite...” The soldier looked up to his commanding officer on the ramparts, who gave an approving nod. “Bring the body over.” The soldier lowered his weapon, and beckoned Daniel over.  
Daniel shifted to carrying the body with both arms and approached the soldier cautiously. Five feet from the soldier, he stopped dead, and sat Matthew down gently.  
“Ye’ll find my ID is in order.” Daniel lifted a small, passport-like document from within his breast pocket and displayed it to the soldier.  
He approached and flicked through it nonchalantly, only stopping to take note of the picture, the company seal, and the captain’s badge.

“Yer a captain, aye? Didnae think they’d send a captain for a burial” said the soldier with an accusatory undertone.  
“Aye, me neither. Sadly the boys’re all occupied and am due for leave anyway, so they sent me to do the job.” Daniel cleared his throat, the air around the gate was somehow drier than a desert and it almost lunged for his throat. “Anyway, can a get in now? Don’t want this poor boy to decompose on the street.”  
“Aye, aye, on ye go.” The soldier gestured towards Daniel towards the gate, and turned to the soldier manning the controls. “LET ‘IM IN!”  
Daniel smirked confidently. “Thank you, dear boy.” He nodded at the soldier, who eyed him suspiciously.

Picking Matthew up once more, he sauntered past the imposing metal frame of the gate and into the quiet little town of Dinnet. Once an unassuming little village on the edge of what used to be a national park, becoming a main entrance for Crann-Bacaidh had given it a slight economic boost. The most vital addition, however, was a train station. Daniel took a minute to breathe in clean air, free from the touch of a desert. It was like the answer to a prayer he never even knew he made. He lingered for a few moments, enjoying the serenity of freedom and the knowledge that he’ll be free from emptying sand from his underwear for a good while. Once his rest had ended, he walked through the quiet street towards the nearby river. In spite of the boost, Dinnet was still a small village, and thus was quieter than even the graveyards of the Badlands. Daniel’s hometown, Springburn, was often lit up by the sound of pesky delinquents and alcoholics, but Dinnet was dead in comparison. As he left the confines of the village, natural light began to fade away, leaving Daniel in complete darkness. It didn’t impede him, however. Months of navigating a lightless desert had given him a particular affinity for the dark, and he reached the riverside without hassle.  
The sound of running water was a little pleasure in life, one that Daniel hadn’t realized he’d missed until it was gone. Being a hydromancer, he naturally had a fondness for natural and unpolluted water, so to be beside it once more was like returning home. A luxury he wouldn’t extend to Matthew.  
  
“You know, Matthew boy. We hydromancers usually bury our dead at sea. Doesn’t matter if it was friends, family, strangers, enemies or…” Daniel suddenly kicked Matthew’s corpse, snapping the cable tie and knocking the tarp away. “…traitors.” Daniel’s words were tinged with venom and hatred. “Sometimes, though, we make exceptions. You don’t deserve to have the water take you. I hope the dirt is more accommodating.”

Using a combination of ice and water alike, Daniel carved out a shallow grave for Matthew. An outline of a rectangle was carved in the dirt using shards of ice. With water, Daniel flooded the ditch until the dirt began to dislodge itself. Finally, using a large shard of ice he shifted the dirt out to reveal a freshly made shallow grave. He grabbed the corpse by the scruff of the neck and threw it in, like a farmer tossing a chicken into a pen. He sealed the grave with little effort and walked away back into the village, leaving Matthew behind for the last time. Daniel wasted no time and headed straight for the train station. Unfortunately, his swiftness resulted in a 45 minute wait, which mostly consisted of whistling, catching up on hydromancy blogs, and browsing old social media accounts for nostalgia. His browsing was interrupted by an obnoxious ding sound; it was a text message.

“What is the colour of night?” read the message. Above it, a name; “Z.” Zoe, one of Daniel’s friends from before he joined the Sanguine Knights, and a dear childhood friend. She was also a vampire, a fact that meant she had to live a less-than-legal life under the radar. Vampires weren't explicitly outlawed, and their presence was tolerated, but many clinics are loathe to give them the blood they need and thus many vampires often find themselves relying on black-market clinics for their needs. Zoe ran one such clinic. "Clinic" is often regarded as a generous term, as it's simply a lounge connected to her home below ground and a coffee shop owned by a friend above ground. Unlike many others, Zoe never explicitly charged a fee for the blood she gave out. Instead she opted to test each customer in different ways to prove they really needed it. These tests were often either mundane or unbeatable, yet it didn't matter in the end for she would release the blood so long as the customer made an attempt.

“Sanguine, my sister.” Daniel typed out. “You know, as a vampire, you could pick a less conspicuous code phrase, and perhaps not such an obvious reference at that. Still living in the sewers?” He hit send. The message sent after a five minute delay. For all Dinnet had received in way of funding and benefits, the wi-fi signal was still atrocious.  
  
Ten minutes went by, and then another ding. “As a Knight, you could stand to be less of an arsehole. Yes, I still liev in the sewers. Coming to visit?” Daniel's lips curled up on one side. Not quite laughing, but close enough; apparently being a vampire didn’t grant one immunity to typos.  
“Afraid not, I don’t visit people where they "liev". Awful joke aside, perhaps later. I have to visit Olivia.” The message sent faster this time. Three minutes, not five. This time, only one minute went by before the ding came.  
“First of all, fuck you. Second of all, Olivia? Really? Doesn’t she want to murder you? Not in the good way, either, else I’d be jealous.” She wasn’t entirely wrong. Olivia Agua, yet another of Daniel’s friends, had an infinitely less pleasant disposition towards him. The two used to duel recreationally in high school, but their last duel ended with Olivia breaking her arm at the elbow. Though she recovered in time, the injury was quite severe and she missed her chances to visit her little brother in hospital and he passed away a month later. Olivia blames Daniel for everything.  
“Correct, she would love to separate my head from my body. That’s exactly why I trust her.” Daniel looked up, and saw the train approaching. “Train’s coming, gonna catch some Z’s. Sleep, I mean, not you. I’ll catch you later if I have time, since I'm assuming you still live in Springburn. Later, vampire.” He hit send just in time to wave down the train.  
  
He’d been in the Badlands so long that seeing a working train was so mystical to him, for he was used to ruined ones that were home to feral vampires. He boarded with a smile, and sat on the widest available corner seat. The train AI buzzed to life in front of him, represented by a holographic female train conductor.  
  
“Greetings sir, where are you going?” she asked cheerfully, yet in a cold robotic tone at the same time.  
“Springburn, single” Daniel didn’t even make eye contact, as his 38 hours without sleep were hitting him like a brick.  
“Error: Springborn not found. Please repeat location.” The problem was already obvious to him: It’d been a year yet the Scottish AI train conductors that belonged to a Scottish organization in Scotland still couldn’t process Scottish accents correctly.  
Daniel sat up and cleared his throat, switching back to his smoother accent. “Springburn, single.” He said it slowly, and forcefully.  
The AI conductor glitched back and forth for a minute before replying. “Destination: Springburn. Ticket: Day. Price: £12.50”  
Daniel’s eyes widened in amazement. Not only was that the wrong ticket type, but it was £8 for the same ticket and destination in 2023. “No. Destination Springburn, ticket single.” Daniel said, frustration growing.  
“Destination: Sunnyside. Ticket: Single. Price: £10” The AI said innocently, unaware that it was driving a grown man to consider his third murder of the night.  
“Sweet mother of rivers” Daniel said under his breathe. “DESTINATION. SPRINGBURN. TICKET. SINGLE.” He said coldly, and as mechanically as possible. The AI paused for 10 minutes, hologram glitching all the way. Eventually, it returned to normalcy. “Destination: Springburn. Ticket: Single. Price: £8”. Daniel sighed in relief.  
  
He’d felled numerous opponents, fought some of the Badlands’ worst inhabitants, and avoided death countless times. But this? This was his greatest triumph. A prompt appeared on his phone, asking him to confirm the transaction. One tap of the green check mark, and the money disappeared from his account, with the AI joining it. Daniel sighed a deep, exasperated sigh, and leaned back in his chair. He’d been arguing with the AI for longer than he thought, and Edinburgh was coming into view in the distance. Amidst the skyline of the city stood the World Tree; colossal trees larger than any man-made structure, with a base that covers several miles. There were several of them around the globe, and the Edinburgh tree was one of two in Europe, the other being in Sweden. World Trees were revered amongst the world’s inhabitants, as many believed that Mother Nature, the creator of the planet, spoke to the planet through them. For the less important population, World Tree sap is a potent energy source, and the bark of a World Tree is stronger than most metals. They’re also the source of the world’s magic, and many of the more unique creatures on Earth such as the various spirits of each culture, are directly attuned to it. Daniel, naturally, had a fondness for the World Trees, as he was born extremely close to one. This was primarily because his mother wasn’t actually aware she was pregnant, and ended up giving birth in a museum directly adjacent to the tree. As a result, Daniel’s magic was more potent than that of those born further from a World Tree. “My my, old girl…” Daniel peered out of the window as the World Tree grew closer and closer. Something about the tree looked unnatural to him, as if something was out of place. “You don’t look well.” Nonetheless, exhaustion finally hit him. With the knowledge that the train goes beyond Springburn before finally stopping there, he reclined in his chair and let the gentle caress of sleep welcome him.


	2. The Man in the Grove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniel wakes up in time to catch his stop, but a security checkpoint bars his path and he has no identification to bypass it. With no other path available, Daniel is forced to descend into the corrupted remnants of Springburn Park: The Velvet Grove.

A soul-piercing alarm thrust Daniel into the waking world once more. An alarm he was all too familiar with and did not at all miss in his time away; a checkpoint alarm. In a bid to counteract criminals using the train lines to move partially out of view of surveillance drones, the Scottish government passed a motion in 2015 to install security checkpoints at various train stations. In theory, this meant legal citizens could travel freely around the country with only a minor hassle and criminals would be identified, detained and sent to court. In practice, this meant an absurd amount of travel delays due to human error, people losing their ID due to a last-night bender, people forging IDs to bypass the checkpoint and travel being held up as a result of the verification scanners suffering a fault. It's these delays that allowed Daniel to catch a good 8 hours of sleep despite the alleged short travel time from Dinnet to Springburn.

The conductor slinked out of his cabin, much like a cat which had been woken up prematurely. "It's awrite folks", he said, clearly tired of saying it so many times, "it's just a routine check. Nothin' tae worry about". A mass of groaning from the other passengers followed. He was older than the conductors Daniel was used to seeing. His eyes had sunken deep into his head and, while they weren't cybernetics, there was no life in them either way. His fingers were a mix of skin grafts, cybernetic replacements and bandages and he had a splint on his left arm which was beginning to look worn out. The old man took one look around the cabin, sighed and moved onto the next, way outside of Daniel's vision.

Daniel, like so many before him, had lost his ID. Whether it was on the journey from the Badlands or one of his various expeditions was unknown to him, but it did not matter. No ID meant he had to either leave the train or suffer through a manual verification... which would immediately alert the Sanguine Knights to his location. Daniel flicked open his phone and opened up the GPS, hoping that he'd at most stopped somewhere convenient. His hopes were quickly bludgeoned when he realized he'd stopped at the Stobhill checkpoint, meaning his only real option was to cross The Velvet Grove.

The Velvet Grove was one of three Metal Groves which sprouted up in Scotland around 1950. In the middle of an uncharacteristically brutal heatwave, a nameless metalmancer decided to go the route of a serial killer and cut a gruesome swathe across Scotland. He was cornered on a country road and killed by a force comprised of a civilian militia, professional metalmancers and the military. However, as one last act of defiance, he released all of his pent-up energy into the sky in the forms of three twisted metal spears. They landed in Springburn, Coatbridge and Strathclyde, twisting each location into a surreal deathscape littered with sharp metal trees, creatures which had bonded with the metal itself, steel plants that defied physics entirely and chemicals which killed off all the previous natural life. Springburn Park was the only place in Springburn actually touched, so it was fenced off and stayed to itself. Strathclyde Country Park was, somehow, inhabitable to ordinary people and became a sort of haven for those shunned by society. Coatbridge, though? The evil metal tendrils swept through the entire town, consumed 80% of life there, and left it a barren wreck, to the extent that permits are required to enter and anyone who doesn't check in every 12 hours is considered dead. The three areas earned the names: Velvet Grove, Rose Grove and Crimson Grove respectively.

Daniel sighed, fundamentally uncomfortable with the idea of even going NEAR the Velvet Grove. The Groves were known to disrupt any magic within and the lack of moisture in the area meant Daniel was at a serious disadvantage. Nonetheless, he had no choice. He ripped his tie off, sat it on the seat opposite him, opened the top three buttons on his shirt and forced himself to his feet, joints cracking all the while as his body woke up.

"Here mate, you no gonnae wait on the check?" asked a passenger opposite him. It was a younger man who looked only 18 in contrast to Daniel's 30. He was wearing a simple brown t-shirt, jeans and plain black trainers, an outfit which would have masked his social status were it not for the fact his arms were top of the line cybernetics. Matte-black finished with silver metallic detailing and the same amount of joints as a real human hand. His eyes had been replaced with equally as expensive cyber-eyes which were expanding and retracting as it looked Daniel up and down, with various layers opening and closing as they applied different lenses and filters to the man's vision. In spite of his plain appearance, the man's limbs and eyes were likely worth more than the country they were built in.

Daniel waved away the man's question. "Nah mate, al just grab the next wan, git ma ID and hop back. Av git time." He winked at the younger man and departed the train. As soon as he did, tiny little droplets of rain began their descent from the skies.

"Rain. Of course, I come back after a year and it's fucking raining. Never change, Scotland, never change." Daniel said to the grand total of zero people which stood before him.

Behind him was the fence which barred the Velvet Grove from the rest of the world. His target, the pub known as the Second Shark's Mouth, lay directly on the other side of the grove. In the distance he could see Springburn actual; decrepit buildings with neon lights and new-age carapaces bolted on like a bandage on a severed limb. Ancient high-rise flats and tenements with wires and cables covering them, appearing and disappearing into various vents and windows like IV bags. Physically it had never changed, but as Daniel looked at the silhouette of a town he once frequented, he couldn't help but feel something was different. Was it the town? Was it him? Whoever knew the answer, it wasn't him. He looked back and forth for a few minutes, attempting to gauge if any trains were coming. Once he was certain they wouldn't appear and turn him into paste, he raised a hand to his chest. Slowly the rain that was landing on him began to stick to him. All of the tiny little droplets were forming together into larger bodies of water, all clinging to Daniel like scared children. They grew slowly, eventually overtaking him entirely and forming a barrier around him which grew and grew like the tides as he stood motionless eventually obscuring the person behind the water entirely. Click. Daniel flicked his fingers. All the water rushed into his body in a blinding flash. This was how hydromancers recharged in the rain. Truthfully, they could do it standing still or in motion. Mages simply derived a euphoric sensation from absorbing their chosen element and had a tendency to relish in it. Daniel had exhausted his supply of water energy trying to escape the Badlands as well as "burying" Matthew so this was him topping up before journeying across the Velvet Grove.

Daniel spied an unpowered, rusted lamp post besides the fence. The perfect entry point to the Grove. With a slight twitch of his arm muscle, a jet of water shot forward and coiled around it. Daniel flexed his shoulder and forearm muscles, which caused the water to take on a gelatinous form. He clenched his fist, tightening the tendril and contracting it, propelling him forwards and past the lamp post. The second Daniel was "in" the grove, he was overcome with a nauseating feeling and lost focus, causing his improvised tendril to vanish and sending him crashing to the ground. The impact was hard, painful and sent a shockwave through Daniel's entire body. He had thankfully not fallen far, but his arm still felt like someone had attempted to rip it out again. Though he had only been in the Grove for a grand total of 45 seconds, Daniel's body was polluted with an uneasy feeling akin to pins and needles but in his entire body. He sat up and clutched his arm, feeling for any permanent damage and praying for none. To his delight there was only some minor swelling and, even though it hurt, he could sense no lasting damage. His arm worries over, Daniel looked around and took in his surroundings.

The first thing he noticed was the fog; from the outside it wasn't at all visible but once he was inside he noticed the entire Grove was blanketed in a light rust-brown fog. Whether it was merely fog or something more was beyond him, but it gave the area the same appearance as a vaguely recalled nightmare. The trees were all lurched over, branches resembling scythes and leaves like shards of glass embedded in bodies they didn't belong in. Some stood taller and straighter, with a single solitary branch all pointing towards the center of the grove. Whether they were omens or guidance was a mystery that would go unanswered, but for a moment Daniel felt they resembled titans warning lesser beings of something to come. The plants within the Grove were all spiral formations attached to one or two metal stalks which bore a comical resemble to a slinky toy. Or rather, it would have been comical were it not for the fact they seemed to track whoever was looking at them. The stone were walkways used to be had been converted into cracked metal which gave an audible thunk when walked on. Finally, the grass had long since hardened into tiny little shreds, almost like barbed wire. An endless mass of it stretched out of view, into the darkness of the metal trees. All in all, Daniel couldn't shake the feeling that he was in a death trap. Were he to be careless, this would be his grave.

He stood up, body still slightly shaking from the fall. He'd landed in a small little clearing, almost a dead end. Behind him was a small outcrop of steel which faintly resembled a crystal. Was it a grave, a marker, a natural formation? Yet another question Daniel didn't know enough, or care enough, to answer. He elected to avoid lingering and find a way out at once. 

"Right. Right. If I'm thinking right, I'm at the East side by the old pond." Daniel started pacing backwards and forwards trying to coalesce all he knew about the Grove together. "The North-most path is pretty much inaccessible, so I can't just take a short walk and be free. No, I need to reach the West side." Daniel pointed dramatically in the direction of his destination. For some reason. "BUT I could cut through the bladed forest using the footpaths and get to the loch. Assuming the geography of the Grove hasn't changed in the last 10 years, it should be a mostly straight walk to the Western fence. From there, I can use the old sewer access tunnels assuming I can bust them open." He stopped dead. "But then there's the issue of people lying in the Grove. I have no idea who is in here. We got nae reports- no reports, of the inhabitants before we left. For all I know it's inhabited by benevolent metal spiders who like offering gifts to weary travelers... here that'd actually be pure sound." Daniel stopped dead, a sense of revulsion crawling up his skin. "No Scottish, absolutely no Scottish."

He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. "No sense standing around then". Daniel shrugged and set off down the foot path in front of him. His footsteps made a resounding THUNK sound every time he took a step which became an almost enjoyable rhythm. It would've been wholly enjoyable were it not for the fact that, every few minutes with no particular pattern, Daniel would hear two THUNKs at once rather than one. He was also deathly certain that the flowers with the serrated edges were whispering things to him. Nothing too severe, though. The flowers were whispering things like "wanker", "cocksucker", "she's turned the weans against me" and Daniel was convinced that one of the flowers said "YOUNG TEAM". But it was of no consequence, because whispers were whispers and whispers weren't weapons or wounds.

After an indiscriminate amount of time walking, Daniel came to the largest pond in the Grove. An uneasy red fog hung over the loch, obscuring the trees beyond and making it seem almost like a portal. The once clear water had been replaced with a strange brown substance. Daniel approached the shore and leaned down, dipping two fingers into the pond. Despite appearing as a liquid, it instead had the texture and consistency of sand. It was neither cold nor warm, instead radiating an uncomfortable feeling that felt like nothing at all. When he tried to move his fingers around, there was a degree of resistance, almost as if the substance was saying "no, I will not move". Similarly, when he tried to withdraw his fingers, there was a slight downwards pull, yet he couldn't feel anything in particular trying to grab him.

"Well, first of all..." He sighed and furrowed his brow at the pond. "...This place is fucked."

His scathing review was interrupted by the silhouette of a figure coming into his view, on a small island in the middle of the pond, seemingly knelt in prayer. A few meters to Daniel's left was a makeshift bridge - comprised of concrete, rusted metal sheets, wood and other materials - all cobbled together to lead to the island. Seeing no cause for concern, Daniel snuck over and lightly hopped onto the bridge. Despite his expectation that it would shake or twist under his weight, the entire thing was steady, even the hastily thrown together bits of wood and metal. As he approached the figure, they became clearer: They had a feminine build, were wearing sheets of fine fabric as a sort of mantle, were barefoot, and there were several finely cut shards of metal dug into their body, most noticeably in the arms and legs. Their veins were quite visibly, even from a distance, and they seemed to glow with a dark, brown-tinted light. As Daniel set his first foot on the island, the figure spoke.

"You, who are of water, why do you traverse our lands?" They turned their head, revealing their face and the front of their outfit. They were wearing brown overalls adorned with various precious metals; gold, silver and platinum predominantly. Their mantle had a thin hood which Around their waist was a belt fashioned from electronic cables, two of them tied in a little bow at the front. The cables comprising the bow were still live, and gave off sparks at random intervals. Their features were soft and angular, with a small dusting of freckles around their face. Strands of sun-bleached ginger hair peaked through her hood, yet they didn't seem to move with her properly, almost as if they were lagging behind. Their arms were unnatural elongated, and their nails looked to be made of actual metal, almost like a blade. They'd stitched small amounts of copper wire through their cheeks in the same formation as a harp or guitar strings, and they'd driven shaped bits of a small computer fan into their nose like a piercing. The feature that stood out most to Daniel, however, was their eyes: The sclera were completely black and seemed to consume any light that enter them. The iris was a series of glowing red lines going around in a circle, and the pupil was segmented into 4 parts by little black lines, with the center being a solid red. This wouldn't be at all notable were it not for the fact their eyes appeared to be completely organic. To an untrained observer they would have appeared to be normal cybereyes, but the way they expanded and contracted in response to light was absolutely not like any cybereyes that Daniel had seen, not even the early models from the early 1900's that he'd read about. This was, for all intents and purposes, an unaugmented human being.

"Greetings." Daniel gave a slight bow. "I'm simply here to avoid a bothersome little checkpoint. If I may ask, do you know if the Western sewer tunnels are still accessible?"

The figure rose from their position and stood upright, arms folded but eyes never once leaving Daniel.

"You're a Sanguine Knight, are you not?" They asked, words coated in venom.  
"Indeed. How did you figure that one out, given I'm not wearing any markings?" Daniel inquired, somewhat worried he'd been figured so easily.  
"You carry yourself with that same air of unassailable confidence. That aura that begs anyone who looks upon you to try attacking. I smell the ocean upon you, the waves, the tides and the ripples. You're a hydromancer, and a powerful one at that, so I can tell you were quite high up in their ranks. What's yet another of you doing going rogue?" Daniel's skin began to grow cold from worry. This person saw right through him, yet he'd barely uttered a word and he had absolutely no trace of his Knight company on him.  
"Well... I can't exactly say you're wrong-" He froze, realizing what she said. "-What do you mean another one going rogue?"   
"I figured a higher-up such as yourself would be aware, yet you're not? Tsk. A small squad, about 6, came through here. Said they had enough of the Badlands. Wanted to be peaceful here, where it's safe - which it is - and took up residence inside the old information center, which as you might know is-"  
"-besides... the sewer entrance," Daniel interrupted "that's absolutely wonderful." He sighed deeply, and ran his fingers through his hair.   
"Ah, you're looking to avoid them. Someone's done something nasty, it would seem. Yes, yes, I can feel it. You look fine-"  
"-Thanks, I get it from my dad." He interrupted again, trying to lighten the mood.  
"Bah. Knights. You look fine and unburdened, but I am in touch with the soil here. Yes... yes... You have an awfully heavy step for a man that seems so unburdened, and it's not just caution, no..."

She trailed off and let her arms down. Daniel noticed a shape move within their mantle; arms. Two metal arms. Not cybernetics, but living metal. Actual living metal. Their eyes focused on something on the horizon and Daniel turned to get a look as well, but there was absolutely nothing to be seen except more metal trees and a mechanical bunny.

"You should be going, now. The path that leads South will take you right to the sewers without much hassle from my followers."  
"Followers? I presume you're some kind of leader around here, then?"  
"You presume correct, liquid one. I am Anna, though my children call me Sunlight. Because-"  
"-Because your warmth guides and nurtures them. Yeah yeah, heard it before."

Anna's eyes flashed like a floodlight. She bared her teeth like a feral animal, revealing teeth that'd been augmented with sharp metal.

"You. Your tone. Your attitude. I hate it. I hate you. I hate your kind."

She stuck her tongue out at him, a seemingly harmless gesture were it not for the fact it was splitting apart, revealing it to be a horrid mess of rusted and freyed metal beneath the flesh. Once it had torn itself to the root, a horrendous metal proboscis burst from her mouth, like a nightmarish scorpion tail made of all sorts of metals that had been indiscriminately mashed together. It was roughly the length of her arm and it appeared to pulse and vibrate like it too was living.

Anna lunged at Daniel, claws and mouth tendril at the ready. With little in the way of defensive options, Daniel expelled some of his pent up aquatic energy, knocking her across the pond and into a metal tree. Using so much energy in one blast knocked it out of Daniel, and he was immediately subsumed by nausea and fatigue, as if he'd woken up from a long coma. The branch impaled her and Anna went limp, seemingly dead... for about a second. After that, she slid off and stood up effortlessly, her two metal arms turning into blades. Daniel was now faced with an ambiguous choice: Face her, and lose all of his energy killing her, or attempt to retreat and potentially run into her followers... or kill her, lose his energy, and potentially run into her followers. It was a no-win situation.

Anna reared up, howled into the sky, and lunged across the pond to Daniel. He'd made his choice.

A fist of water rose from the ground and grabbed Anna like a giant grasping a fly. Mimicking Daniel's movement, it slammed her face first into the ground, shattering her metal arms and utterly annihilating the bones in the left side of her body. The winds were howling, the pond was shaking and shifting, Daniel's mere presence converting it back to water. The skies had opened up and rain was flagellating the soil. Daniel's eyes turned a solid teal blue colour and his skin began to shimmer and reflect light. As Anna looked up, all she could see was a shimmering ghost of a man who was radiating energy. He walked towards her, yet from her perspective he was not walking. He was flickering, gliding, hovering like a split-second shadow viewed in the corner of one's vision. Daniel raised his fist, attempting to submerge her head much like he did to Matthew, but she immediately broke out of it. The Grove had twisted her so that she didn't need oxygen. She was thrashing and flailing about, desperately trying to get to her feet. She succeeded in getting onto one knee before Daniel went for a different avenue of attack. He shut his eyes and held his fist in front of his face. The storm intensified, the pond they were in was beginning to deform and droplets of water were raising upwards into the sky. Daniel himself was surrounded by a watery aura.

He opened his eyes and drove his fist into Anna's face. The storm immediately stopped. The pond returned to its previous form. Daniel looked as he did when he entered the grove. But Anna? Anna had frozen with fear.

"You're... You're..." She was trembling. Shaking. Though she remained still, her body was vibrating and undergoing tremors like there was an earthquake. "...the Man... from the Grove...".  
Her eyes rolled into her head and her entire body turned to water. What remained of her fell to the ground and poured down into the pond. All that remained of her was a few bits of fabric from her mantle. Daniel collapsed onto his back, completely exhausted and in searing agony. He'd used every single bit of aquatic energy he had.

"Fucking hell." Daniel said out loud to nobody in particular. "It'd be so much easier if I could siphon energy from my own storms."

He was thankful to live in Scotland, for nobody would bat an eyelid at a sudden burst of rain that only lasted 30 seconds. He stayed motionless for a while, actually enjoying the serenity of the Grove for once, as well as the chance to wait out the pain he'd endured conjuring the strength to kill Anna. Yet it was this serenity that gave Daniel an unfortunate realization. He sat up, licked his thumb and held it to the air.

Nothing.

There was no wind or breeze in the Grove. It was completely still. The wind did not blow, the trees did not move, the waters did not stir. It was entirely still. To Daniel's recollection, however, there was a breeze earlier.  _Did killing Anna stop the breeze?_ He thought.  _No, no, if she controlled the Grove, the Grove would've tried to help her. It didn't._

He stood up and was immediately knocked down by a blistering pain in his side. He reached down to grasp it and immediately felt the all too familiar texture of blood through his waistcoat. Evidently his body wasn't prepared to do something like that with a limited supply of energy. In an actual storm, or near an actual body of water? It would've been effortless. Daniel stripped off his waistcoat and opened up his shirt. He took a few steps back and grabbed the remnants of Anna's mantle. It was enough to cover his wound, and he held it in place as he put his shirt back on so that it'd stay. For a moment he nearly considered putting the waistcoat back on, but after some deliberation he just kicked it into the pond. As he limped away, he could swear he heard the pond thanking him.

"Southern path, that's the path she said." Daniel said, once again to absolutely nobody. "Sooner I get out of this lightless fuckhole, the better. I say fuck too much. Shit, I'm talking to myself. I need out of here." Daniel slapped himself twice on the face.

He took off towards the Eastern path across the makeshift bridge. This time, though, it was far less sturdy. Daniel almost slipped several times, only kept upright by the fact he anticipated this. Walking out was significantly harder than walking in, as most of Daniel's body ached from his woman-into-water magic trick. Fortunately for him, the journey through the Southern path was uneventful. He spied a few figures in the treeline, but they always vanished when stared at. For most of the path Daniel was alone with his thoughts and the sound of his footsteps. He reflected on his time in the Badlands and compared it to the Grove. The Badlands was cold, merciless, eldritch and inhospitable, but the Grove was all that and more. The Badlands, for all their strangeness, had a sound logical reasoning for existing: Extreme toxic magic in one location distorted it beyond recognition. But the Groves? It was a metalmancer that created them. No metalmancer is capable of creating something like the Groves, yet here they were. Daniel had known of their existence all his life, but this was the first time he was ever in one. The more he thought on it, the more it disturbed him, the more he asked "Why? Why? Why?".

As Daniel hoped, the path curved West, putting him on track. He came to a crossing pointing in four directions, with a little podium in the center. It clashed with the rest of the grove: Carved from wood, with a few nice little natural flowers hung on a planter outside. There was even a bench, finely carved from seemed to be rosewood. The podium seemed to have been entirely untouched.  _Perhaps it was created after the Grove was made?_ Daniel thought. Regardless of what he thought, his wounds ached, so he limped over and took a seat on the bench. He found great comfort in sitting on an actual seat for the first time since he entered the Grove. Though it was made of wood, the bench was comfortable, more akin to a beanbag chair than a wooden bench. It was welcoming, almost homely. Yes, yes, it was very welcoming indeed.

Crack.

The snapping of twigs and sticks underfoot. The sound faded into the woods, giving Daniel the impression it was just an animal, but soon it was accompanied by more cracking, by more snapping, and the sound of rustling in the bushes. Shadows of humanoid figures with sharp shapes jutting out of them were lumbering towards him. Their movements were limp and puppet-like, yet they were making unnaturally large strides forward. Though he didn't bother to turn around, Daniel could vaguely sense more of them approaching from behind. He was in absolutely no position to do anything about them, given that all his energy had been spent and he had no weapons on hand. The bench he was resting on was bolted to the ground so he couldn't even smash it up for a weapon. As the figures came closer, Daniel managed to get a good look at them: pieces of metal were haphazardly shoved into their body and several of them had torn flesh with thin sheets of metal nailed over them. Their faces were mangled, with an unholy mishmash of metals jammed in to patch up the damage. Wires dangled from their body in random places and many of them were partially or completely lacking eyes.

_Well, shit_  was the only thought going through Daniel's mind at this moment, as he had no avenues of escape nor any power to use. A calm sense of acceptance consumed him, and his only response was to kick back, rest his head and shut his eyes.

His calm acceptance of death was disturbed by the smell of what appeared to be burning. He opened his eyes to the sight his would-be attackers standing entirely motionless outside a ring of flames. The flames were burning a deep violet colour; the signal of an extremely,  _extremely_ powerful pyromancer. The kind of pyromancer that could match Daniel blow-for-blow. The kind of pyromancer that's usually cataloged for public safety or pushed into service work. Curiously, they also weren't moving at all. Neither were his attackers, the trees, the grass or the wind. Droplets of rain were suspended in the air, motionless. Daniel tapped his foot off the deck. Once, twice, three times. No sounds. Time had frozen and judging by the temperature it had quite literally frozen. In spite of the flames around the temperature was cold enough that Daniel's breathing was clearly visible in the air.

"Chilly, isn't it?" A soothing voice asked from nowhere. Daniel looked around, scanning for a source, but there was nothing that wasn't already there. The sound didn't seem to come from any particular direction nor did it sound like it came from a person.

_It came from somewhere_ , he thought, trying to convince himself.

"You're right. It did." The voice again, accompanied by a shadowy figure appearing directly in front of Daniel, beyond the flames. The figure walked up to the flames, waved a hand, and walked through them. The violet light of the flames illuminated them enough for Daniel to get a decent glimpse at them: They wore a fine pair of suit pants, a white dress shirt, a waistcoat and a pair of dirty jackboots. A hooded shawl obscured their face in shadow, hiding their face entirely. Their outfit, though evidently of a fine make, was utterly decimated. Cuts, open wounds, bloodstains, tears and burns littered the figure's body and clothes as if they'd been in a war and had never changed clothes. Daniel's body was being submerged in a layer of primal fear of the unknown, the same feeling one gets when staring into an unlit stairwell or a dark forest.

"Spot of bother, I take it?" The figure's voice was calming and almost seductive. It generated such a warmth within Daniel's soul that it filled him with terror whilst simultaneously putting him at ease. The whiplash caused his heart rate to skyrocket to such an extent that he was feeling the pulses throughout his bones.

The figure leaned back and lifted his head, revealing nothing but a shadow in place of a head.

It waved its hand in dismissal. "Your answer matters not, I know it regardless." Metal leaves kicked up around it, gravitating toward its hand and twirling. In a few seconds they became a very ornate teacup and saucer filled with an off-colour viscous liquid. The figure took lifted it to where their lips should be, almost inhaling the fluid rather than drinking it.

"I know what you're thinking, my boy. "What's going on? Who is he? How can I escape? Why are there Sanguine Knights here? Who are these people?" Understandable questions, of course, and I could answer all of them." The figure's voice was like a gentle rhythm on an acoustic guitar in the distance. They were obviously the one speaking yet it felt as though their voice was coming from behind Daniel.

Daniel moved to speak, but an unnatural and metallic feeling in his throat caused him to hold his tongue. As if a power far greater than him was gently whispering "don't."

The figure waved their finger. "The local subhumans refer to me as "The Man in the Grove", since evidently their naming conventions devolved with them. You, however, may call me... hmm. Actually..." They trailed off. "...I don't think it matters, truly. Most things you do from this point on won't matter." The figure sat up and extended a hand towards Daniel. "Just say the word "go" and we'll be on out of here." Though there was no face to look at, Daniel got the oddest feeling in his chest that the figure was smiling at him.

Every single atom comprising Daniel was screaming at him to stop, to not take his hand, to flee while time is paused. Yet in spite of himself, he felt an unconscious urge to simply place his hand in the figure's.

The figure's grip was gentle and warm, like the comforting grip of a family member.

"Go."

The residents behind him burst into flames and quickly turned to ash. The rain resumed its descent towards the Earth. The flames around them danced merrily and then flickered out. The figure pointed to the path directly in front of Daniel and gave a guiding nod towards it. Then, from the boots up, the figure faded away into ash.

As his shawl faded out, his eyes lingered behind for a small second. 

They were beaming. Not with light, but  **hate.**


End file.
